


Welcome to the Family

by OhItsActuallyMicheal



Series: DS Mob Fics :) [2]
Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: Accidental Baby Acquisition, Congrats Wes ur now a gosling/mosling, Found Family, Giants, Me "Hey what if the survivors bonded with mobs", No Dialogue, Rating due to french swearing, Somewhat based on fanart, Wes is a Mime and this is convenient to me, accidental adoption
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-13
Updated: 2021-01-13
Packaged: 2021-03-17 15:54:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28727661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OhItsActuallyMicheal/pseuds/OhItsActuallyMicheal
Summary: The Moose Goose is as mighty as it is stupid.Inspiration from https://rotten-dan-art.tumblr.com/post/187275996303/there-is-so-much-art-of-wes-at-the-mercy-of
Relationships: Moose | Goose (Don't Starve) & Wes (Don't Starve)
Series: DS Mob Fics :) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2109708
Comments: 2
Kudos: 16





	Welcome to the Family

_ H O N K _

Wes’ spear goes flying, sliding on the sopping wet grass and coming to a stop a painful distance away. He could make it over there and grab it, yeah.

Moose Goose stomps into the path to the spear and lowers its head to give him a nasty glare alongside a headbut.

This time, Wes goes flying.

He gets back onto his feet, ribs aching with each breath and blinded by wet hair clinging to his face and getting in his eyes. It’s not raining, but the ground is littered with puddles and he finds his feet landing in every one. Now disarmed and injured, he has one option in the face of the angry giant.

Run like Hell.

Wes turns tail and hurls himself forward away from the Moose Goose that begins to give chase, arm wrapped protectively against his side and the other trying to swat wet hair out of his eyes. The ground shakes beneath him as the giant stomps its way ever closer, all he can hear is its awful honks, stomps, and the mud sloshing with each massive step.

He stumbles to the right to avoid a knock from its antlers, feet sinking into the muck and wastes precious moments freeing them with a wet  _ thhhhhuk! _ There’s a pretty dense forest off the side that he could lose the Moose Goose in, but there’s hives of spring-angry bees in the way.

Go around them, he decides, and feints to the right as best he can and bolts off to the left without looking away from the waterfowl megafauna.

And falls ass-over-tea-kettle into a grassy structure with a silent cry.

Wes is momentarily blinded again, but this time it's from a cloud of baby soft downy feathers he’d disturbed in his fall, and a bolt of pain lacing up his side from landing on his ribs. The feathers finish falling and the mime is startlingly aware that he’d fallen ass-backwards into the Moose Goose nest, the goslings (moslings?) all staring at him with their crooked eyes in shock.

A heavy gust of sour moose breath on the back of his neck reminds him of the danger that was just on his heels. He turns as the giant takes a large sniff around the nest, sending the down up into the air again and ruffling his damp clothing. Wes can barely move, he’s completely cornered, injured with no weapon, sitting in the giant’s bed.

He’s going to die, no doubt about it.

The Moose Goose however, comes to a different conclusion.

Wes nearly jumps from his skin as the giant nuzzles into the top on his dripping hair with its snout, nearly knocking him off his feet again. Moose Goose deems him safe enough and turns to leave to continue doing whatever it was doing before Wes stumbled upon it earlier. The second the giant’s back is turned he is mobbed by the moslings (goslings?), curious snouts prodding at him and eventually he is smack dab in the middle of a napping pile of baby giants.

While stuck, he comes to the realization that when he fell into the nest and got covered in dawn feathers, he gained the smell of the babies, and therefore the favour of the Moose Goose. So while within this pile, he is safe, but he is trapped.

What a pickle he is in.

_ Merde. _

  
  
  



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